Update on my independent study thingy: Professor Darling is quitting. Her semester is so stressful that she’s declared it her last. She has no time for anything, which means that she wants very little from me. Now I have terrible guilt over the whole thing. Stupid work project. Stupid Shermer Illinois.
Speaking of the project, I had to go to a branch office today and convince people I wanted on my team that I wasn’t trying to eliminate their jobs. That was fun. I don’t think they believed me, probably because I was wearing a suit and fucking hell, when did I become The Man? Probably when I sat in their boss’s office for an hour with the door closed and told him what I was going to do and what I needed from him and he nodded and said ‘Okay, sure, whatever you want.’ I thought about saying ‘And I’d like a pony. A dapple-bottomed pony’ just to see if he’d write it on his notepad. I hope they don’t find out that I just sentenced them to half a day of training, on top of the extra work I’m asking them to do. Never mind. I totally am The Man.
Tilly (my cat, because I feel as though I need to explain as I do not have one of those cast thingies, because hi, this is my life and not an matinee performance of Brigadoon, because if it were, the part of Weetabix would be played by The Man, or perhaps Kristy Swanson on ice skates) was especially frantic when I got home very late and my god, she almost starved to death because she could see the actual bottom of her food bowl and it has reminded her of the impermanence of life and also the futility of the feline condition (I suspect she reads Camus while I’m gone) and what, oh my god, why aren’t you petting me right this very second because jesus Christ woman, are you looking at the bottom of the bowl? Hold me. Except don’t.
I bought her an especially floofy cat bed for my office. I’ve been looking for one that wouldn’t look too ridiculous, and then found one rimmed with black feathers, perfect for the pets of drag queens, and of course had to have it. At some point, things become so ridiculous they venture into the sublime. I have always sensed that Tilly is a cat that thinks she is a dog, but now, with the presence of the floofy cat bed, I am absolutely certain that she is a cat, because she is somewhat horrified by the utter fabulousness of the cat bed. I tried to get her to lay within the aura of feathers, but it freaked her out. Then I dumped some catnip into the bed, thinking, heh, bribery. She sat there for the rest of the night, but wouldn’t touch it again. I dumped a larger amount of catnip. Once again, she was willing to sit in it while tripping, but after that, no go. It’s so great when she’s in it, because it looks like she killed a crow and is now crouching in it. I suspect the feathers are picky. Or she’s pissed that I haven’t lined it in sable. I spoil the cat too much.
It is times like this where I really enjoy my shrimp. They say nothing. Sometimes the three biggest are on the bottom and Winston is swimming along the top in a counterclockwise motion. I suspect he does it for the enjoyment of the others. Shrimp television.
I had more, but I must go service the cat.
